Logan stood atop Garchomp's back, hands clasped behind him as violent winds tore through the sky—only to be repelled by the energy field surrounding the Dragon Pokémon.
The League Chairman had informed him that a special investigator was waiting in the Johto region. Logan was now heading toward the ruins of the so-called Rayquaza Research Institute.
While flying, he took out his notebook, reviewing his conclusions and checking for any overlooked gaps.
"Logically speaking, everything should hold together. If I still can't find Latios and Latias, then it's simply bad luck."
"No… the real concern is the Eon Flute. If its recorded location is wrong—or if someone else found it first—everything collapses."
His voice trembled with restrained excitement.
To Logan, hunting Legendary Pokémon was like solving an intricate mystery—gathering information through overt requests, covert manipulation, even deception, then extracting the truth from countless fragments.
The process brought him an almost intoxicating sense of satisfaction.
"Given Cynthia's obsession with myths, she definitely would have gone to Alto Mare herself after learning all this. But she failed."
"She didn't find Latios or Latias there."
"That's probably why she handed the information to me—hoping my 'Dragon affinity' would resonate with them."
Logan shook his head.
"My power isn't 'Latias-summoning magic.' If I went to Alto Mare unprepared, I'd come back empty-handed."
Alto Mare might not be large, but it covered four hundred square kilometers and housed over two hundred thousand people.
If Latios and Latias could truly assume human form, then finding them among that population would be like searching for a needle in the ocean.
Which was why the Eon Flute—almost unknown to the world—was the true key.
Tracing it across centuries and civilizations would have been impossible without the League's vast archive.
Logan had spent half a month painstakingly piecing together those faint threads.
Kanto and Johto were often treated as a single region for a reason—their proximity.
At Garchomp's supersonic speed, Logan crossed the sea in no time, the outline of Johto appearing on the horizon.
After confirming his position with the Pokédex, he adjusted course.
Below lay dense forest. In the distance stood Blackthorn City—the Dragon Clan's homeland.
Logan didn't stop there.
He flew straight toward his destination.
Hidden within the forest was a small cluster of buildings—five or six structures at most. It resembled any ordinary research facility, except it had long since fallen into ruin.
In League records, it was simply called the Pokémon Research Institute.
Among insiders, it had another name:
The Rayquaza Research Institute.
A facility dedicated to studying the super-ancient Pokémon known as the Sky God.
Now it was nothing more than wreckage—collapsed walls, vines crawling over abandoned structures, weeds overtaking the ground. A monument to forgotten ambition.
And standing amidst the ruins was a lone figure—motionless, like a statue. Even Garchomp's descent didn't draw a reaction.
Logan dismounted, recalled Garchomp, and approached.
"You must be the special investigator the Chairman mentioned… Mr. Norman?"
The man appeared to be in his late thirties. He wore practical combat attire, his square face stern and expressionless. His hairline had receded enough to make one worry about his future.
Logan recalled the League's dossier.
Norman—an exceptional Trainer. Even at an age when many retired, he continued pushing himself relentlessly. A model Trainer.
League records listed his strength as approaching that of an Elite Four member. One of the rare high-level Trainers who actually obeyed League orders.
—The Man Who Pursues Power.
That was his title.
In that sense, he and Logan were alike.
The difference was that Norman had reached this level through sheer effort alone.
"Champion of Kanto… Logan?"
Norman's voice was as rigid as his demeanor. He examined Logan carefully, offering no smile.
"That's me."
"Good. If circumstances were different, I'd challenge you right now. I can feel how similar we are at our core."
His expression softened slightly.
Then he sighed.
"You're an incredible young man. I wish my child would learn something from you."
A fleeting weakness passed through him—quickly hidden, but not unnoticed.
Even the strongest men grew weary when it came to family.
Logan understood, though for very different reasons.
"Enough talk," Norman said. "You're not the type to waste time, and neither am I. Follow me. I'll give you everything you came for."
He turned and walked into the ruins.
Logan followed—unhurried, focused.
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